Liberty of a Damned King
by NeutralStripes
Summary: Medieval AU. Lincoln's last few moments as King.


Lincoln's rugged pants crawled into his ears as he ran down the castle corridor. His heavy steps sunk into the red, silky carpet. He had a firm grip on his left shoulder. Crimson liquid gently poured through the gaps of his fingers. His blood dripped down his arm and landed on the carpet with an even tempo. The two reds mixed perfectly.

The burning slash on his shoulder ached. He squeezed harder and ran faster. There was a slight limp in his sprint. His left arm dangled and swayed lifelessly. His majestic ruby-colored robe flailed behind him and traced his movement like a shadow. The golden crown was long gone and forgotten.

The cries and screams of his fellow noblemen sung in the distance. The clashing of iron and marching grew louder and louder. The orchestra of roaring voices was an ominous melody.

Lincoln stopped his sprint with a skid and turned a corner. His heart skipped a beat. Down the hall, dressed in their light vests and leather hoods draped over their heads, were three rebels. They were conversing with each other in a small circle, all three completely negligent of the King's presence.

That was until one of them, from the corner of their eye and by fortunes hate, noticed the strange figure. All three turned and peered down the hall. Lincoln's glance met their dark, empty voids of faces. His eyes grew wide. He turned back and kept running down the hall. The rebels came out of their stupor and chased after the damned King with the brutal passion of hellhounds.

Lincoln's heart raced. Panic and desperation radiated from his face. Sweat rolled down his forehead and filled his brows. His lungs burned and his muscles scream for him to stop.

Lincoln took another hasty turn. He quickly went up a set of spiral stairs and reached for the light at the top. He stumbled out into one of the castle's circular rooftop. The archers were nowhere to be seen. They were supposed to be firing from above, but it seemed they scurried off with fear.

Lincoln ran over to the ledge and placed a firm grip on the concrete wall. He leans over and looks down the parapet. His blood froze and he gasped. The drawbridge met the ground and the castle doors were torn open. A large mob was slowly swarming the castle like the undead. Their blades and torches bobbed in the air as they made their angry voices heard. Lincoln saw the grey clouds of smoke rise over the side of his castle, groups of flames danced wildly from the windows as they slowly consumed the interiors.

"What did I do wrong?" He whispered. The firm grip on the concrete wall tightened. His skin peeled and burned with rage. Lincoln saw enough. He needed to escape now. He was about to turn and run, but the clattering of footsteps stopped behind him.

A peculiar weight pressed on Lincoln's chest. He sighed. His fingers gently brushed and ran down the wall as he turned and faced his unwanted guests. There they were, those three rebels again. The King and rebels faced each other in pregnant silence. He inspected their shadowed faces in search for something. Lincoln's eyes roamed over each of them.

The rebels reached for their hoods and pulled it back simultaneously. Lincoln eye's shot open with shock. It was them: Luna, Lynn, and Lori.

Lincoln squeezed his wounded shoulder and his teeth clenched. His anger numbed the pain.

Lincoln looked at Lori. "You," His tone was soaked in poison. "This is your doing, isn't it?" Lincoln asked with a shaky voice.

"No. It's the will of the people." Lori simply stated. Her cold gaze was engraved in Lincoln's mind.

The frosty breeze pushed her cape aside, revealing her iron sword beside her waist. Lynn and Luna's sword also boldly presented themselves. Their capes settled down and wrapped around their bodies again.

Lori, that harlot, was the leader of those scummy rebels. Those no-good vigilantes ran around spreading justice and peace like they owned it. But why Lincoln? Why the King of all people? Was he not a blessing among his subject? Was he not hand selected by Heaven itself to rule over the land?

"I swear, in God's name, I'll have your heads for this." Lincoln cursed with a stomp.

"God's not on your side," Luna said. "And neither are the people."

Ah, so that's what all this is about: The people. Their lives of poverty and famine should be seen as a blessing, really. Suffering, true suffering, is a sign of loyalty. Luxury and status are a prison for the cursed.

While Lincoln solemnly eats meat and cake, the people joyfully eat their dirt and dust.

While Lincoln twists and turns on beds of clouds, the people rest easy on beds of rock.

While Lincoln's family is burdened by royalties fickle nature, the people are well content with staying peasants.

While Lincoln and his nobles drown in riches, the people greedily prosper with their own goods.

While Lincoln is warm and lonely during winters, the people are cold and unified.

While Lincoln lends a hand to the flimsy American, the people rage from this act of kindness.

Lincoln growled. "Helping those American's was a damned mistake."

The people are the ones to blame, not Lincoln. Those greedy bastards are just a bunch of ungrateful brats. Lincoln works day and night for them. Do the people really think that those melodic trumpets are those of parties welcome? No, they're a done deals and politics. Do the people think that the colorful laughter is that of joy and humor? No, they're of great stress and late nights. Do the people think that fat bellies are those for wealthy man? No, they're for the ones who sacrifice with selflessness and true care.

So, why? Where did it all go wrong?

Lynn was the first to reach a greedy hand for her sword. The smooth iron wiped out from its leather sheath, a glimpse of light running along the length.

The other two mimicked her actions.

Lincoln swiftly flung his robe in the air and reach for his sword. His sword sliced the air with a clean swipe. The robe gently draped around his body again. The tip of the sword pointed at the rebels with a lust for blood.

Lincoln kept his stance wide and his body low. His eyes darted left and right and his breathing was erratic. He was like a feral animal, ready to strike at any moment.

The three rebels slowly scattered, their eyes never leaving Lincoln. Lynn crawled far left, Luna slithered far right and Lori stayed in the dead center. Their sword pointed at Lincoln, each one was eager for a bloody hit.

Lincoln shot glances left and right, waiting for a foolish push. Instead, the three of them, himself included, stayed their ground. The rebels and the King were as still as statues, their shadows stretched across the concrete like haunting spirits.

The falling sun was crashing into the horizon and coating the world in an orange glow. The swirling violet came pouring from the heavens, warning all of the approaching night. The golden dews scattered across the sky like ornate lanterns.

Oh, starry night! Why must you curse me?

A slight movement of Luna's boot scraped the floor with a crunchy scratch. Lincoln looked over at her.

Big mistake.

Lynn quickly sprinted forth and raised her sword high into the heavens. With Zeus's might, the sword came crashing down like thunder.

Lincoln, with reactions as fast as Mercury, took one step back and planted his foot on the ground. He raised his sword sideways and blocked Lynn's attack. The two swords clattered and rang with a nice melody.

Lincoln raised his stone foot and drove the sole of his boot into Lynn's stomach. She stumbled back and clenched her aching belly. Lincoln was about to strike down Lynn with a single swing, but Lori rushed him before he could even think of doing so.

She came at him with a deadly jab aimed for his chest. Lincoln shifted to the side and dodged the blow. He saw the pointy sword pierced the air where he stood. He raised his blade and swing down on Lori's sword. The iron of Lori's sword crashed into the ground but she didn't let go. A painful shock vibrated through her hand.

Lincoln swung at her but Lori quickly leaned back. The sword grazed her cheek. Crimson blood leaked and trickled down the side of her face. Her eyes narrowed and she wiped it away with a balled fist.

This struck Lincoln as humorous. A rude smirk was plastered on Lincoln's face.

Luna stepped in. She twirled the sword above her head and quickly tried to slash his side. Lincoln placed his sword in the way and blocked. The two swords firmly pressed together. Lincoln maneuvered his sword over his head and Luna's blade unwillingly followed. Lincoln pushed Luna's sword to the side and left himself an opening.

Lincoln pulled his sword back and was ready to drive his sword through Luna's heart, but a brute force crashed onto his side. Lynn had tackled him.

Lincoln went tumbling across the floor with a grunt but Lynn stayed her ground. His sword glided and landed in front of him. He reached for his sword and lifted himself off the floor.

Lincoln growled. This inane defense was getting him nowhere. Lincoln was taught that defense was the greatest offense. Wait for an opening and strike relentlessly. But this fight was three against one. Every chance he had was shut down with complete ease.

Lincoln wished Clyde was here, but he was probably still fighting off the marching mob, his loyal subjects doing the same.

Lincoln took his stance again. Body low, legs spread. He huffed and puffed, his chest rising and falling like a raging bull. Lincoln's face was red with fury and the grip on his sword tightened.

Lincoln looked at Luna and charged. He ran left and his red cape mimicked his move like an outline.

Lincoln lashed blow after blow. Luna managed a solid defense, but Lincoln was tearing through little by little. He heard tapping footsteps from behind him and quickly jumped out of the way. Lincoln dodged Lynn's jab from behind.

Lincoln slashed at Lynn with mighty blows, madness in his technique. She was barely managing to block. He took a step forward with every hit, and Lynn took a step back with every block. Lincoln saw his opportunity and swiped his foot at Lynn's feet. Lynn crashed onto the floor with a thud, her sword smacked the concrete floor and rattled.

Lincoln towered over her. He placed both hands on the handle and pointed the sword downwards. Lynn's eyes shot open. She rolled away just when the sword sunk into the ground and buried itself into the concrete. Lincoln tugged at his sword but it wouldn't budge. He tugged again and again, but the iron was stubborn.

From the corner of his eye, Lincoln saw Lori hastily approaching. The rebel leader raised her sword high and lowered it with a powerful swing. Lincoln ditched his blade and dodged. Lori's blade clashed into the hard floor. Lincoln looked at his blade and his heart skipped a beat. He was harmless and weak.

His gaze lingered down to the ground and his heart fluttered. Lynn's sword was left abandoned and for him to use. The Heaven's truly blessed him.

He picked up the lonely sword and took his stance again. A wicked smile stretched across his face. His empty eyes and cold heart searched for blood. Lori's life seemed appetizing.

He slashed and swing wildly at Lori. The rebel leader was finding it tough to hold a firm grip. Lincoln keep his assault going, he giggled as he did so. Lincoln took a wild swing left, gave a heavy blow to the right, a quick thrust at her chest and each time he kept attacking, the closer he was at getting her heart.

Beads of sweat rolled down Lori's forehead. Her sweaty palms were loosening the grip on her sword. Her wide eyes kept track of Lincoln's movement. He was unpredictable and unreal, like a creature of the night. His swordsmanship was unlike any other, almost too mad and relentless to be counted as human. Her thumping heart and aching muscles cried for help. Lincoln noticed.

A sinister smile stretched across his face. That's what he wanted to see: The true terror on Lori's face. Lincoln wants Lori's last second on God's blessed Earth to be nothing but pain and fear.

Lincoln swung at her side, Lori barely managed to block it. She took a clumsy step back and her feet collided. She fell to the floor and Lincoln quickly struck down at her. She raised her sword sideways and blocked it again. Their blades ground against each other, the shaky clattering filled their ears with its unwanted song. Lincoln's greedy blade was sneaking closer to Lori's chest.

Lori tried to hold her grip, but her strength was fading. She was losing the fight. They both knew that. Lincoln's blade shakingly crawled above Lori's breast and was close to penetrating her soft heart. He looked from the tip of his blade to Lori's helpless eyes.

They were full of fear and regret. Lori looked up at Lincoln and their eyes met. Her weak face gave Lincoln life. The King's devilish smile stretched across his face, his sharp teeth were bared.

He took in every color of Lori's face. Her silky, blonde hair. Her plump, peach lips. Her milky, smooth skin and ocean blue eyes. Lincoln enjoyed the mix of terror and sorrow in Lori's eyes most of all.

But, a quick shadow glimmered in her eyes.

Lincoln's smirk fell to shock.

A painful burn ran down the right side of his back. He dropped his sword and shouted in pain. He turned around. Luna was a step away, her bloody sword greeted him.

Lincoln growled.

"Bastard," Lincoln shouted fiercely. "I'll kill you!"

Lincoln was about to reach for his sword, but a cold wind ran through his body. His eyes grew wide and timidly looked down. The bloody tip of a sword peeked through his chest. His hands trembled and his mind raced. With wide eyes, he turned around and noticed Lynn. His buried sword was gone.

His own blade ran through his body.

The tip crawled back into his chest and out his back. Silence filled the chilly air. He pressed on his wound with quivering hands. Dark blood poured down his chest and smacked down on the floor. Crimson liquid pooled at his feet. Lincoln's breathing was rough and uneven. He took a clumsy step back, then another and another.

He backed away from the rebels and leaned against the stone merlons. His robe coated the floor beneath him as he slides down the stone wall, blood smearing behind.

"This… wasn't supposed to happen," Lincoln muttered.

It was hard to breathe. His chest ached and his heart shattered. He could feel his arms and legs slowly go numb. The sudden cold enveloped his body with a vice grip. He felt his hot blood pool beneath him. His crimson liquid spread to his draped hand and touched his cold fingers.

Lincoln looked down at his body and noticed the life leaving his body. His eyes were heavy, but he managed to look up at the rebels. They kept their far distance. Their bodies were blurred and their faces hazy.

Lincoln looked to the side, his gaze soared from between the gaps of the merlons. The melody of the chanting people filled his ears. Songs of hatred and bitterness. Oh, poor, ungrateful fools. May Heaven fix your broken resolve and twisted minds.

How will God ever forgive them for this sickly deed?

Lincoln tears his eyes away and looks up to the Heavens. That beautiful amalgamation of orange and violet beckons him to join. The stars are crashing down and the clouds are running.

Heaven and the angels are weeping for the King.

The sky's colors blur and mix into a fine painting only he can see. Stars of gold and fiery passion dance for him. Land and mountains of power stretch across the face of Earth. No end in sight.

Lincoln felt his heart fading. His lids are heavy and the beautiful painting before him is surrounded by an approaching rim of darkness. A weak smile greets his face, the lovely colors engraved in his mind and fresh in his heart.

"A death… fit for… a King…."


End file.
